


101 Ways

by Sophia_Bee



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Death, F/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:16:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan keeps a list of all the ways he could die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	101 Ways

**Author's Note:**

> I originally left an author's note stating the following: "Still can’t find my fluff gene." Over ten years later, I seem to continue to be deficient.

Gun. Drive to the edge of town and put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. Just like the movies.

Pills. Lie back onto the silk comforter that covers your mother’s bed and drift away, dreaming that she’s stroking your hair.

Hanging. A quick snap of the neck. Make sure it works, got to find something nice and tall.

_I don’t want to die._

*****

He’s drunk. Not graceful drunk or tragically slurring drunk. Logan’s seen his mother play both those roles, makeup perfect as she brought the glass slowly to her swollen lips. He’s not his mother’s son, suave and handsome in his inebriation. He’s just sloppy, stumbling, stinking drunk.

He could have another. And another. Until the alcohol becomes the primary part of his blood, invading all his cracks and crevices. Until he blacks out and is left with nothing.

*****

Knife. Slice it across the blood vessel and watch as it pumps out, a spurt with each beat. They’ll find you on the floor, a pool of red around you. Just like they found her.

Car. Turn on the ignition and settle back into the comfortable leather seats, specially imported just for the famous movie star who graced the showroom one day. The one who flirted with the women and slapped the men on the back and made friends with everyone.

Jump. Drop through the air like a stone with your stomach in your throat. Wonder what she was thinking when she followed the same path. You think until you hit the water and everything shatters.

_I don’t want to die._

*****

Duncan’s face is concerned as he stares at Logan. Logan’s glad his sunglasses are shielding his bloodshot eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Logan blinks. It’s the most Duncan has said to him in months. Logan had started to feel like maybe Duncan just didn’t see him as he lurched down the hallways of Neptune High, trying to keep his balance, trying not to let everything in his world fall apart at that exact moment.

“Fuck off.” Logan mutters and starts to turn away. It a self-fulfilling prophesy, rejecting before Duncan can give him the rejection he knows he deserves. He’s worth nothing. He stumbles a little, his hand goes out, pushes agains the locker to steady himself. He tries to keep his gait even; tries not to let anyone know that his world is spinning out of control.

*****

Water. Let it cover you, rock you to sleep in its soft embrace and you never wake up.

Plastic bag. Slicked over your nostrils and mouth, it’s chemical smell invading everything.

Crash. Step onto the freeway and ignore the loud scream of the horns, wait until one crashes into you, a ton of twisted metal at ninety miles per hour.

_I don’t want to die._

*****

“You need help.”

Veronica is leaning on the locker next to his, her hand going to play with the choker she always wears around her neck. Logan knows she does this when she’s nervous. He wants to tell her to fuck off, to walk away and leave her startng at his back as he retreats into a world that has become almost unbearable.

He doesn’t walk away.

“I need a lot of things.” Logan mutters as he pulls another book out of his locker and stuffs it into his bag.

He needs his mother back. Even if it means she comes as a package, complete with booze and pills and neglect. He needs to bury his face in her shoulder and feel her perfectly manicured hands stroke his head as she coos in his ear, to smell her expensive French perfume. Just one last time.

He needs his father to be a father. One who doesn’t beat his son. One who doesn’t have blood on his hands. One who isn’t sitting in a sweltering jail cell plotting how he can act his way out of a murder conviction.

He needs to go home and find the list he’s been making of all the ways to die. He needs to tear it up into tiny pieces , place the pieces in his hand and let the wind pick them up and take them far away from him.

He needs to be saved.

He needs to find a way to say all of this except his tongue is thick and his brain is slow from too much booze and too little sleep.

Logan takes a deep breath. He turns his head to look at Veronica who is still leaning on the locker, still looking at him. Her eyes are unwavering, unsympathetic. They demand the truth. He can't help but give it to her.

“One hundred and one.”

Logan’s voice is low, almost a rumble from deep in his chest.

“What?”

He clears his throat. Pushes his sunglasses down his nose. Looks back into the eyes of the only person he knows who has conviction.

"One hundred and one,” He says again, this time louder. “That’s how long my list is.”

One hundred and one ways to die. Each one unique. Each one spectacular. Each one a promise that the pain will end.

He feels a soft touch on his arm and looks down to see her hand, jagged, chewed nails on the corduroy of his jacket, and he doesn’t remember ever seeing her bite them. His gaze return to her face and he sees tears shining in her eyes, her jaw is tight and her hand grips his arm.

“No,” Veronica grits out between clenched teeth.

They stare at each other, neither knowing what to say. For the first time in months Logan almost smiles.

He never knew he would be missed.

**The End**


End file.
